Of Pecking Owls, Sniffing Witches, and Withheld Information
by Meggie Lupin
Summary: George Weasley is having a bad day, until he stumbles upon something that just might make him smile. George-centric, with minor Harry/Ginny fluff.


George Weasley was not having a good day.

He had awoken at the crack of dawn, stirred from a sweat inducing nightmare, by an owl perched on his window, one that was pecking incessantly at the glass. When he opened the window, to allow the owl entry, it merely pecked him, dropped his letter so that it sat precariously on the window ledge, and then flew off, leading to the letter falling to the ground below.

Groaning, George's head fell against the wall in dismay. Before he sighed, and turned towards the door, walking out onto the landing and down the stairs to the awaiting front door.

Pushing his way outside, he headed to where his letter sat, far below his window, in the grass. Crouching down and grasping it in his hand, he tore it open, pulling the letter out and leaning precariously to one side as he read it.

A loud groan filled the air when he reached the bottom of the parchment, as his presence had been requested at the ministry to act as a residing magical resident over a misdemeanor of muggle misconduct. In other words, he was locked in at the Ministry for the day, therefore losing him a day of progress and profit at the shop, along with any sanity he might've held for the day.

Rubbing his face in dismay, he slowly stood to his full height, and sighed, turning back to the house, and heading inside.

He made his dismal trek upstairs, prepared to get dressed in the formal attire required of those requested to oversee a court hearing. He only hoped his dress robes still fit after two years of non-use.

Fully dressed, and with a rumbling stomach, George made his way downstairs to the kitchen, fiddling with the tie around his neck. He was met with the pleasant smell of sausages, and a small smile fell upon his lips, as he thought about the one thing that was going right today.

That is, until, he saw Ron already seated at the kitchen table, scarfing down every tasty morsel upon the table. Typically this wasn't a problem, as Molly always made more than enough, cooking until everyone had come down and gotten their fill.

But today? No, today George was running a tight schedule, and he didn't have time to wait for the next round of food to make its way to the table. Sighing heavily, he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the table, pulled a piece of bacon from Ron's mangy hands, and kissed his mother goodbye, as he set out the door towards the Ministry.

The hearing was incredibly boring. George found himself squished in between two elderly women, both of them wearing brightly colored hats covered in feathers on their gray hair. It was taking all of his energy to keep from choking on their perfume. He could barely even hear what was being said by either party, as each witch sniffed haughtily at each other.

George couldn't tell if they were old enemies, or if they just had rather bad allergies to their heavily perfumed selves. He rather hoped it was the latter, so that they'd be having as rotten of a time as he was.

The little he could gather about the hearing led him to believe that they must have a case of mistaken identity, because there was no way that the idiot seated before him could have possibly been smart enough to charm thirty seven tea sets into exploding every time they filled with tea. But then again, people rather said the same about him and his inventions. Maybe he could hire this guy, once he had gotten off with the Ministry, that is.

George heard a hammer, and the two sniffing witches on both his sides slowly stood, sighing in relief, George stood, stretching, preparing to head out of there and to his awaiting shop, which could still be opened, if only for a few hours of work.

"Will the residing court please proceed outside for a quick recess, while the subject of the second trial is brought into the courtroom?"

George felt all of his will slump out of him rather quickly at that.

It was 10pm when George finally made his way home. He was starving, tired and hungry. Not to mention over all displeased with his day. Six trials he'd had to sit through. Six. Stuck in between the two old bats and their horrible perfume, and not a one of those trials offered a break for a snack. It'd been hell for the poor boy.

Shoving the back door open, and stepping into the kitchen, George headed to the cupboard, pulling out bread and peanut butter, hoping for a sandwich before falling onto his bed. Swiping the peanut butter over his bread, he dropped the knife in the sink, and took a satisfying bite, making his way into the living room, only to stop in his tracks.

There was someone in the living room. Someone on the couch, in the living room. Someone on the couch, in the living room, at 10pm. George stepped into the room and peered closer at the couch, scrutinizing it. Make that _two_ someones.

Glancing at the stairs surreptitiously, George made his way closer to the mass on the couch.

Lying across the couch, covered in an old knit blanket, was Ginny. His little sister Ginny, who was currently curled into the side of the one and only Harry Potter.

To say that George was surprised would be an understatement. Sure, he'd realized his younger sister and the boy who lived were rather close, but he hadn't realized they were _this_ close.

So close, in fact, that Ginny's palm currently rested curled against Harry's chest, her face tucked neatly into his neck. Harry's nose took up residence in Ginny's hair, pressed against her head. His glasses were off, resting on the coffee table beside them, and a small smile rested on what George could see of his face.

Now, George wanted to be upset. Really he did. His day had been horrible, absolutely rotten. He had gotten no breaks, been stuck in the Ministry for hours on end, and had now come home to find his baby sister curled up in the arms of his younger brother's best friend, a boy who he'd come to think of as being a part of his family.

He wanted to be mad that no one had told him, that_ Ginny _hadn't told him. He wanted to wake them, and yell, and shout and scream bloody murder because _that was his little sister_ and sodding hell if he'd let Harry destroy her virtue before she turned 18.

But no. George did not get upset. He did not scream. He did not shout. He didn't even yell. And not one curse left his lips. Because resting on Ginny's face, and on Harry's too he supposed, was a look he hadn't seen on either of them in a long, long time.

And that was of absolute serenity. They were happy together, and that much was clear to any idle observer.

Smiling softly to himself, he undid his tie, pulling it off of his neck as he walked up the stairs to his bedroom.

Because no, George Weasley was not having a good day. Not with pecking owls, and sniffing witches, and sisters that withheld rather important information. No, he was having a great one.

**AN: Quick one shot, George-centric with Harry/Ginny fluff. **

**I'm not really sure where this came from, but I sort of like it, and I hope you do to. But critics are most definitely welcome. **

**Thanks for reading. xx**

**-Meg**


End file.
